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Cinderella Hands

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Where did my slender hands go
so…
secretively? To a ball?

To…three?
I forbade them. I need those working girls.
3 creeping-hand dreams I’ve had, and

in 100 fingers 0 belong to me.
There’s a few digits here. Maybe, it’s possible,

that my hands went to be with other hands,

like those they wish to be counted among

(the Slender Hands Club) zero to 10, perfect 10,
as grandmother used


to say. Now, her hands,

which taught me to dream,

which never taught me to count, or ration-



alize, were slender also.

Thin-ness came naturally to our hands.


She cast spells over my kindergarten class,


told us the tale of Cinderella, who had


slender, busy hands, and was rewarded.
Maybe my mandibles wanted to be Cinderella,

Yes, her hands found that hackneyed peace


handsome hands find;

hidden away from years, virgin workers, they snuck away.

And to my ill-bred-Once-Upon-A-Time hands, which
no longer keep time, or count,
or anything (at least for me):


Welcome, piece by piece, happily ever after.




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